


It Came Upon a Midnight. Clearly. Or Not.

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: 2017 TS Secret Santa Drabble Days prompt "Peace", M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2020-05-14 19:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19279327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: Jim can't sleep, and having sentinel hearing isn't helping all that much.





	It Came Upon a Midnight. Clearly. Or Not.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2017 TS Secret Santa Drabble Days prompt "Peace"
> 
> FYI: there's a certain amount of irreverence, possibly? Not intended as such, but it might appear that way? Also, the strong possibility of cognitive dissonance between the title and the first lines of the drabble. Oops... :-)

_'Peace on earth and mercy mild...'_

Jim rolled his eyes at the midnight sky framed by the skylight over the bed. Tell somebody to hark and hail, then talk about peace and quiet? Stupid-ass song couldn't make up its mind. 

Of course, it was possible that his current perspective was affected - slightly - by the fact that this was the twentieth time he'd heard the damn song in the past hour. Affected by the fact that it was on badly scratched vinyl and that whoever was playing it on his stereo would lift up the needle at the end of the last verse and wait just long enough to give Jim hope that peace really _had_ come on earth before dropping the arm back down at that first goddamned 'hark.'

He blamed the Robertsons; the recently married, enthusiastically affectionate Robertsons downstairs. The Robertsons, and the apparently tireless guy somewhere down the street and his very vocal girlfriend. The also-somewhere-nearby guy watching porn with a painfully excruciating soundtrack hadn't helped either. Throw all those sound effects together and it'd been just a little too... stressful, under the circumstances. 

Of course, it was his own fault that to avoid that, ah, _stress_ he'd sussed out the nearest music on tap in the neighborhood and tuned in on it as a distraction. And his own fault, masochist that he clearly was, to _stay_ tuned in. Way. Too. Long. 

_'Hail the Flesh, the God Head see; Hail the incarnate Deity...'_

The oblivious cause of Jim's stress mumbled something incoherent, gave a brief snort of a snore, and rolled onto his side, his back to Jim. 

Jim sighed. He'd barely seen Blair for weeks, thanks to crazy mismatched schedules for both of them and Blair also pulling a handful of all-nighters, and now that they were finally in the same bed at the same time, he still wasn't seeing more of Blair than the back of his head and an exhausted, blanket-covered lump. 

If they didn't have sex soon, he was fucking going to forget how. 

Another mumble, but this one Jim could make out - not surprising, since it was unmistakably 'Jim' - and despite his thwarted libido he smiled. 

Sure, he could jack himself off. He wouldn't even have to be quiet about it; Blair was too deeply asleep to wake up for anything less than an apocalypse. 

_But._ Jim slid his hand under the covers to rest on Blair's hip. _But._ Sex - hell yes, he wanted sex; it'd been way too (no-)fucking long - but he wanted sex with Blair, not with Rosy Palm and her five sisters. 

Jim sighed again. Rubbed his thumb back and forth over the skin just above the waistband of Blair's boxers. Felt Blair's minute, reflexive shift towards him. 

_But._ This. If there was any peace to be found in his life, any mercy, it was lying here beside him. 

Jim smiled. Again. Peace, mercy, and - tomorrow - sex. 

Make-up-for-lost-time sex.

_'Joyful, all ye nations, rise; Join the triumph of the skies...'_


End file.
